Roger & Anita
by Kuri333
Summary: How to go from falling into a pond to getting married?
1. Chapter 1

_AN: So, in my old age (and being a relatively new mum) I find myself rewatching old Disney classics under a completely new light. And fangirling over characters I'd never considered before. Or not in this way. Here's to Roger and Anita, from the animated version of 1961, although the story takes place some 15 years earlier._

* * *

The sight of his soaking wet excuse of a handkerchief finally snapped her out of her self-pity and Anita gave an involuntary chuckle. There she was, soaking wet, having been dragged to the pond by a lanky man and his ill-behaved dog, her purse and book and hat ruined, and she was laughing. Maybe it was plain hysterics, but he was laughing too, in rich, amused tones, and all of it was utterly ridiculous.

"I am very, very sorry," he finally mumbled. "I don't know what happened with Pongo, he's usually a good dog…"

The good dog in question was actually sniffing her own dog. Perdita didn't seem to mind at all.

"He had me fooled for a moment," she said with a small laugh.

"You've lost all credibility, Pongo," he addressed his dog. "My name is Roger, by the way," he added, taking his eyes off the dogs and offering her a very wet hand. "Roger Radcliffe."

"Anita Greene," she said automatically, briefly taking his long fingers in hers.

He gave her half a smile. "I'm so sorry about your things, I'm... How can I fix this? What should I do?"

She looked around, assessing the damage. "I have to go back home; I need to get changed. And you too, I suppose…"

She suddenly realised she was wearing a very large tweed jacket over her shoulders, and she couldn't recall how exactly had it ended there. It was his jacket all right, she had noticed his lanky form when he had walked in front of her bench mere moments ago. With trembling fingers, she started to take it off-

"Never mind that. Keep it," he prompted. "It's not much, and it's wet, but at least it'll help."

"But you need it…"

"Not really," there was that half smile again. He took off his hat and gave it a good shake in an attempt to get rid of some of the water. She noticed his eyes were hazel, with tiny wrinkles on the sides. "Let me walk you home. You can give it back to me then."

For a moment Anita wasn't sure what to say, but a sudden gush of cold spring wind gave her goose bumps and made up her mind. "All right."

"It's the least I can do."

The dog… Pongo, was it not?... and Perdita were oblivious to the whole exchange and the moment she called her name the dog looked at her and she could have sworn it was with reproachful eyes.

"Come on now, Perdy, let's go home."

"You too, Pongo," Roger echoed, taking both lashes in his hand. At this, both dogs started walking with enthusiasm and she couldn't help but smile at them. "Let me take them, you try to keep yourself warm," he added.

"A wet dress and a ruined hat might not be a very high price to pay for Perdy to make a new friend," she said with a small smile.

At her side, he chuckled. "There were other ways to make friends in the park, I'm sure."

"Not many would make such an interesting tale, though," she retorted.

Now he laughed, and it was her turn to join in.

The skirt felt heavy, sticking to her legs like glue, but she was barely registering it, as he started asking her questions about Perdy and about how often they would visit the park.

It took them too little time to reach her flat, and she found herself wishing for a reason to extend the easy conversation.

"Thanks for accompanying me here," she said.

"As said, the least I could d-atchoo!"

"Bless you! Now you're going to catch a cold because of me taking your jacket."

"No I don't think-choo!"

"Why don't you come inside and dry up a little before heading home?"

He looked down at her for a moment, and suddenly Anita realised it was a somewhat improper thing to say. Only, it was said already and there was no going back.

"That would be… yes… thanks."

With a quick rummaging in her bag she found her keys and a moment later they were climbing up the stairs.

"I might even have some dry clothes that might fit you," she said distractedly. "From my husband."


	2. Chapter 2

_Husband_. The word felt as cold and as uncomfortable as falling into the pond at Regent's park. Was she married?

She was climbing the stairs in front of him, Perdita already on the landing, and it took a nudge from Pongo on the back of his legs to snap him back to attention.

So, she was married. What did it matter, really? Many people were married. Most of the people his age was, at any rate.

Only, he had not realised he had been wishing she were not. Now that was a very silly thought. They didn't know one another, and after their wet situation would be fixed in minutes' time, they wouldn't meet again. And yet he had hoped-

"Pardon me?" Roger realised she had been saying something, after opening the door.

"I said 'wait here for a moment'," she pointed at a small sitting room he barely registered, her left hand still on the door handle.

He stepped in, distractedly. There was something… "You're not wearing a ring," he blurted out, and he immediately wished he hadn't. That was impertinent to say the least.

"I… oh!" Anita blushed, and looked down at her own hand. "No, I don't anymore. I'm a widower."

"Oh… I'm so sorry… I shouldn't have asked, what a silly thing-atchoo!" He was sure his blush would more than match hers. At least he was making a terrific work of acting like a blabbering fool.

"Never mind," she looked back at him, with an unreadable expression. "Wait here for a moment, I see if I can find…"

"I… I can start the fire for you, if you don't mind," he pointed at the chimney.

"Would you? That would be lovely, thank you so much."

"Don't worry about me, really. Get yourself sorted out. We don't want you to get a cold, now, do we?"

She smiled for a moment, and he couldn't help but notice the way her blue eyes sparkled, for a brief second, before she disappeared through a door that she carefully closed behind her.

At his feet, Pongo gave a small whimper.

"Now you've done it," he murmured half-heartedly. What "it" really was, he was not very sure. Or even if "it" was a very good or a very bad thing.

It took her some long minutes to get dried and dressed, and it was with some difficulty that he forced himself not to think about whatever might be transpiring at the other side of the door. It was good that he had something to do.

The moment the fire started, Perdita settled in front of it. Pongo crouched right next to her, first cautiously, but since she didn't seem to mind, he finally settled, almost as if he had done so for a lifetime.

"You, cheeky beggar," Roger mumbled. Pongo didn't even look at him.

A moment later the door opened, and Anita emerged with a bundle of clothes. Only, that was the last thing Roger noticed. She was wearing a skirt and a blouse, and her hair was still wet, over one of her shoulders. His throat suddenly dry, he thought he had never seen somebody as pretty in his life.

"The washroom is the second door on the right," she said, handing him the clothes.

"Wha…? Oh. Right," he managed.

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Radcliffe?"

"Oh yes, thank you."

She gave a tiny nod, and headed to another door, giving the dogs a passing glance. What she thought of it, he couldn't tell. Another sneeze made him hurry and change.

The owner of the clothes had been much bulkier than him, so much was clear. And a tad shorter, too. There were two inches of ankle clearly visible, and there was just too much shirt around his shoulders, but at least it was dry and he could ignore the faint smell of old drawers.

He couldn't help but wonder about the man, though. Would it be too forward to ask her about him? Was she a very recent widower?

In the small sitting room, Anita was busying with his tweed jacket, hanging right next to the fireplace.

"I had to take off my shoes for a while, or the socks would've gotten wet," he said, feeling that he had to excuse his strange appearance.

"Put them here, next to the warmth," she said. "And your clothes, too."

"Thank you."

"I hope we could prevent that cold from happening," she smiled at him, while taking his vest out of his hands and very carefully hanging it on the railings in front of the fire, too.

"I stopped sneezing," he smiled at her.

"I… I hope you don't mind. I tried to rub your dog with a tower while you were there…" Pongo was lying next to Perdita again, and he looked almost dry. "He could've gotten ill, too, you know."

"Thanks. That was very thoughtful of you. Didn't he put up a fight?"

"He got a little restless, but it's nothing I haven't handled before," she grinned. "I know Perdy hates getting wet. I thought-"

The whistle of the kettle interrupted her, and she ran through the door again.

"Milk? Sugar?" She called. He walked to the door, to find a very small kitchen. There was barely room for her to move inside it and yet she was doing so with ease.

"Two lumps, please."

"Two lumps it is," she smiled at him over her shoulder. "I'm sorry the clothes don't really fit."

"Don't be. It's lucky you had them, to begin with,"

She turned around and gave him one cup, "I guess it is."

"Thanks."

He took the cup with slightly trembling hands as she pointed at the sofa. Both sat and for a moment nobody spoke. The tea was scolding hot, but he drunk it nonetheless, to have something to do other than fidget awkwardly into these unfamiliar clothes.

At some point their eyes met and she smiled at him, but he thought it was half-heartedly. Was she regretting her hospitality and wishing he would leave her alone? He was not being the best of guests, but then again, he suspected he rarely was. For some reason, he never knew what to say. Small talk was definitely not his thing. Somewhere a clock was ticking, and he had the impression the sound was getting louder with each passing second.

"How long have you had Pongo," she finally said, and he almost dropped his cup in surprise.

"I… er… three years… and a couple of months. My mother gave it to me after… after I came back from the war."

"Oh. What did you…? I mean, if you don't like to talk about it, I understand."

"RAF. But I was one of the lucky ones."

"My husband wasn't," she said so low he thought for a moment he had imagined it.

"Was he RAF, too?"

She nodded, and then shrugged. "He passed in 1942. It's been a while now. So, that's why I don't wear a ring anymore."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't- It was not right for me to have asked that. Forget I did, please-"

She gave a tiny laugh. "Doesn't matter, really. You might have noticed those clothes are not exactly fresh from the wash."

"You won't hear me complaining."

They looked at one another for a moment.

"What do you do?" she finally said. "Besides walking your dog and landing yourself in ponds?"

He had to laugh at this. "That's cheeky. I'm a composer."

"You never! Really? A musician?"

"At least I try to."

"That's unusual. What sort of music?"

"Half of it is what I like, half of it is what might pay the bills. Jazz is my one passion."

"I haven't heard much of it, I must confess," she said, placing her empty cup on a side table.

"You might want to give it a try someday." He could ask her to go to a concert with him. Why not? He could. Only… it seemed too… too quick, and strange after just talking about her husband-

"I'm a secretary," she made him jump back from his own musings.

"That's nice," he said, at a loss of something better.

"It's not. It's quite boring, really, but it helps paying the rent and it gives me some free afternoons."

"It makes you happy," he stated.

"It does."

His cup was empty, and he had run out of reasons to stay. "My clothes should be warm enough now… I… let me give this back to you and I'll be on my way."

"Oh, don't be silly," she said with a wave of her hands and a smile. "Keep them on. You can return them some other time."

Some other time. At this, his heart gave a couple of funny jumps. This, whatever "this" was, would not be over just yet then.

"That's… that's very kind of you," he said. "I'll… thanks for the tea and… well…" he looked around, at a loss of what to say, until his eyes rested on the dogs. "Pongo," he called. He and Perdita raised their heads. "Come on, old thing. Let's go home."

At this, both dogs whimpered.

"It's such a shame to separate them," Anita commented, walking to them and crouching, to scratch them on the back of their ears.

"Yeah," Roger muttered, his eyes fixed on her hands. "We should… they should… we can take them to the park some other time. So they can be together…" he trailed off, but she stood up smiling broadly.

"What a wonderful idea. We should do that."

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and he beamed at her. "What about tomorrow? We could meet at the south entrance? 5 o'clock?"

"Could we make it 4.30? It's just, I'd rather be back home before dark."

"Certainly," he replied, making a mental note of accompanying her home whatever it'd take and deciding that he really didn't need to work until 5 anyway.


End file.
